How to Save a Life
by The1stHarbinger
Summary: Arthur Pendragon was dead. Merlin never really knew him, but that was about to change. High School AU. Slash. (Just trust me.)


WARNINGS: Suicide. Depression. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. High School AU. Temporary Character Death. Time Travel.

First and foremost, I would like to begin by saying that I know I am dealing with a very sensitive subject here, one in which I have no real personal experience with. For this reason, I hope you will bear with me and feel free to call me out on something that doesn't seem right - just please try to be kind about it. I do hope you have read the warnings, and if you haven't yet, please do so before you begin reading. Note that I am not trying to romanticize suicide, as I know it is a very serious subject and not to be taken lightly.

Due to a busy schedule, updates will likely be sporadic and varied, with potential long waits in between. You have been warned ;-)

x X x

It was an inconsequential Monday morning when Merlin heard the news. A day like any other school day, insignificant and deceitfully sunny, with an added air of boredom and a touch of dread that he had an entire week of school to get through before it was the weekend again.

At least, that was how it started.

Merlin would ignorantly walk into his high school that fateful Monday morning, with his paltry worries and trivial teenage dilemmas, and walk out again that very same day with his life forever changed.

This was what he would learn:

Arthur Pendragon was dead.

Arthur Pendragon had committed suicide.

Arthur Pendragon had been found by his father in his ensuite bathroom, wrists slit and unresponsive, on Saturday night.

Arthur Pendragon was _dead._

After his initial shock at hearing the news, Merlin went through the rest of his day on autopilot, sluggish and oddly empty. He wasn't the only one, either. It would seem that the entire school's ambience had turned, not unexpectedly, somber and glum. Merlin himself had trouble grasping the concept. _Arthur Pendragon_ and _dead_ were words that should never have been in the same sentence, much less _Arthur Pendragon_ and _suicide_.

Even Merlin understood how impossible it should have been for such terms to go together. He didn't claim to know who Arthur was. Or had been. He had never even been an acquaintance. And yet he had always taken Arthur for granted as someone who would always be there, a fixed constant in Merlin's comparatively mundane life. To have that familiarity ripped from him, well… it left Merlin floundering. And wondering. Wondering what everyone else was wondering and what no one was brave enough to ask.

 _Why?_

Why _had_ someone like Arthur Pendragon felt it necessary to take his own life? Why had he felt his only means of escape was death?

… And why was Merlin so affected by it?

x X x

"You want me to do what?"

"A tribute, Merlin. It doesn't have to be very long, only about a page or so, where we can honor Arthur's memory and his accomplishments to this school. We believe it will be good for the students."

 _Good for the students._ Merlin fought not to scoff. "And you want _me_ to write it? I didn't even know Arthur!"

Principal Aredian linked his long and wrinkled fingers together atop his desk and leaned forward. "That's the point. You see, Uther Pendragon, Arthur's father, requested that the author be indifferent to Arthur's death. Surely you won't turn him down?"

Merlin blanched. _Indifferent?_ He certainly didn't _feel_ very indifferent, regardless whether he knew Arthur or not. He wasn't sure it was entirely appropriate that he be the one to write the tribute. On a baser level, he didn't know if he could provide Arthur with the recognition he deserved.

"Merlin," Aredian continued when Merlin hesitated. "You are the best writer in this school. At least, that's what Gaius says, and I have heard your other English teachers praise your profound talents."

Merlin flushed a deep red, though he couldn't honestly say that he was unaware of what his teachers thought of him. He liked to write and, unfortunately, his teachers liked to commend him for it – in class. Very loudly and very often.

"Look, Merlin, we would all very much appreciate it if you could do this one thing for us. I'm sure Arthur would appreciate it, too."

Merlin gnawed at his bottom lip to hold in his disgust. He was almost positive that Arthur would _not,_ in fact, be very appreciative of anything Merlin had to say. He would probably just want to be left alone. Wouldn't that have been why all this had happened?

He regretted realizing that he honestly didn't know. The thought made him irrationally upset, and Aredian's false sympathy wasn't helping anything. The slimy bastard obviously didn't truly care about what had happened to Arthur, or why. Merlin figured the only thing that would even matter to the man was how it would affect the school. More specifically, its reputation.

But then again, Arthur's _father_ had asked for this. He could only imagine how difficult this must be for the man, and he supposed he didn't need to make it any harder by refusing. He could write something nice in memory of who Arthur had been. Something nice and _indifferent._

He swallowed. "All right. I'll do it."

Aredian clapped his hands together and the gesture made Merlin flinch unwittingly. "Splendid. You have a week. Try to speak to those who knew him well."

Merlin grimaced as he was dismissed. He didn't handle grief very well – he knew from experience in trying to comfort his mother when something reminded her of his father – and talking to those who knew Arthur was undeniably going to be full of sadness and (God forbid) tears. And who was to say they would even want to talk to him? He would have to tread carefully, if nothing else.

At home, he pulled out his yearbook from last year and searched the pages until he found Arthur's photo. Seeing his picture caused a small ache to spark deep within Merlin's chest. Arthur wasn't quite grinning, but his deep blue eyes sparkled in the photo to match the small quirk of his lips. The picture didn't do justice to his sun-kissed blond hair or his strong jaw, but one still would have to be blind to miss how handsome he was. Arthur had been everything the most popular boy in school should be.

So what had happened?

Merlin leafed through the rest of the pages and found another picture of Arthur, this time with his football team. He was kneeling on the grass, a large golden trophy gripped tightly in his hands, while the rest of his teammates surrounded him. They all seemed to be glowing with happiness, but Arthur especially had him enraptured.

Though he had seen the photo before, he had never taken the time to admire Arthur like he did now. Arthur was clearly sweating, light reflecting prettily off the beads of perspiration on his brow, his cheeks were flushed, and his damp hair was in disarray, turned a darker shade than in the previous photo. Here, he _was_ grinning, and Merlin couldn't help the way the ache in his chest grew slightly.

He felt sick to his stomach. Surely he wouldn't choose _now_ to start taking an interest in the boy. The boy who was now irreversibly _dead_.

Or perhaps he was just being sentimental. Yes, that was it. It was only natural to feel melancholic after such an ordeal. He probably wasn't the only one feeling this way, wishing with a desperate longing that _somehow_ he had realized what was going on with Arthur and could have done something to help him.

Merlin knew, rationally, that there wasn't anything he could possibly have done. He hadn't known Arthur, not really. He couldn't be expected to read a boy he'd only talked to a handful of times and suddenly know that there was something bothering him, that there was something horribly _wrong_ going on in his life. No one else had appeared to notice – or, no one had _said_ anything – so how could _he_?

He knew all this, and yet the beginnings of a pestering guilt began to plague him. He was only too grateful for the knock at his bedroom door, disrupting and disbanding his troubled thoughts.

He snapped the book shut just as his door opened and admitted his mother.

Hunith gave him a small smile, tinged with a hint of sadness, as she sat on the edge of his bed. Her hand reached out to clasp his ankle loosely, giving it a few gentle rubs. Merlin had to wonder how she knew.

"Hey sweetheart. How are you feeling?"

Merlin shrugged and shoved the yearbook under his pillow, even though it was pointless as she had already seen the cover. He said, "How did you know?"

"The school sent out an email," his mother answered simply.

Merlin nodded. He had never had any experience in this sort of thing, so he couldn't say what would happen next. But he supposed it made sense for the school to let the students' parents know what was going on. He distantly wondered how they would have phrased that email.

"I'm fine," he said belatedly. It might not have been the absolute truth, but he couldn't think of any reason why he should be anything else. What right did he have to be upset? There were others, many others, who had known Arthur and had loved and cared about him. It made sense that they would mourn.

But how could Merlin justify his own grief without coming off as a complete ass? He had never taken the trouble to get to know Arthur, so did he really deserve to be dejected now?

He knew he couldn't tell any of this to his mother, so he didn't try.

Still, Hunith didn't look as if she believed him, but she didn't push. For this, he was grateful. He wanted to work out his feelings for himself.

Merlin cleared his throat, swallowing around the lump that had lodged itself inside of it. "Mr. Aredian asked me to write a tribute. For Arthur."

Hunith's brow rose. "And did you say you would?"

"I couldn't exactly say _no_ ," Merlin grumbled.

"You can do whatever you want Merlin. Don't make yourself uncomfortable."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "It's whatever, Mom. I'll do it."

Hunith pursed her lips. "All right," she conceded. "You know you can always talk to me, right?"

Merlin bobbed his head in affirmation. He didn't much want to talk about this anymore. Hunith seemed to realize this and gave him a quick peck on his cheek. "Dinner's in an hour," she told him as she left his room, closing the door behind her.

Merlin let out an inaudible grunt and tried not to think, lest his world truly come crumbling down around him.


End file.
